


Left Out in the Cold

by StFrancisdeSales



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Neglect, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Pre-Canon, Protective Dean Winchester, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 04:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5321081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StFrancisdeSales/pseuds/StFrancisdeSales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens to his boys when John Winchester takes too long coming back from a hunt? The temperature is dropping and the Impala is sinking into a deep-freeze...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left Out in the Cold

"I'll be back in two hours."

His father’s words rang clearly in Dean’s mind. So clearly in fact it was as if they had been spoken just two hours ago, not the four it had been since he’d last seen John. The youth clenched his prematurely calloused hands to stop them from shaking as his gaze traveled from the cold and empty driver’s seat on his left, to the frosted windshield of the Impala. Then he craned his neck around to look into the backseat.

A small, hunched figure was cradled by the window and the back of the seat, just behind the driver’s side. Sam gave a slight shiver in his sleep, the slow breath creating patches of fog on the glass from his partially open mouth.

This was a typical December in the Michigan woods. For the two southern boys, 6 and 10, it was practically cryogenic stasis. It hadn't been too bad back in the motel. They had wrapped themselves in admittedly thin blankets and huddled by the radiator. It clanked and wheezed, but at least gave off enough heat to keep them comfortable.

The gas in the car had run out an hour ago, however. Dean had tried to ration it, only turning on the Impala when the cold became unbearable. But it had been a long time since they last stopped for gas. He tried not to think what John would say when he eventually got back from the hunt and discovered his car was running on fumes.

A feeble cough from the back returned Dean's thoughts to the present. Sammy sniffled and rolled to his other side. The older brother added another worry to his growing list: was he coming down with something? Sammy rarely got sick, but when he did it was always bad. One year he had even been hospitalized for the flu. The Winchesters had fled the second he was released, before the hospital could realize their check would bounce.

"Keep it together," Dean hissed to himself. He glared at his fists, willing them to stop trembling. “B-be a man.”

Several times he had considered abandoning the frigid car and searching for John. It was nothing more than a desperate thought, however, as the hunter had left without telling his sons where he was going. Dean knew his body heat wasn't doing much but it was all he had to assist his brother now.

Except... Dean flicked on the flashlight they kept in the glove compartment and peered carefully back at Sammy. His lips were blue and there was a delicate patina of frost on his eyelashes.

"No..."

Too much heat would escape if a door were opened, so Dean clambered awkwardly over the front seat. Sam barely stirred as he sat carefully beside him, trying not to disturb his fitfully slumbering brother. Whipping off his jacket, the elder brother tucked it carefully around the younger. Then he settled down, as close as he could, beside the figure, shaking slightly as it was from cold.

There Dean waited, both arms wrapped around his brother’s small shoulders, struggling to keep his eyes open. He watched the direction he vaguely recalled as east and hoped, as the sun rose, that it would get warmer. His eyelids sagged, but snapped open again instantly.

Was that John returning? No. Just the sound of the engine settling as it continued to cool.

The green eyes shut again, then blinked open.

"No!" he whispered vehemently to himself. "I gotta... Take care... Sammy..."

His thoughts started to become confused. How long had they been here? He didn't know. It was too cold. So intensely cold his fingers began to feel like they were on fire. Cold fire.

Then, blissfully, numbness crept in, replacing the fire with no feeling at all. Slowly, he felt the cold steal into his very heart, sapping all his strength.

"S... Sam..."

"Sammy!"

Dean hadn't realized he’d fallen unconscious until he woke to searing pain. Someone had rubbed his fingers, toes, and one ear raw with a vegetable grater, and it took all his self-control not to scream.

From his left came the sound of hurried feet and the vague sensation of someone taking his wrist in gentle, warm fingers. The lights were too bright for him to see anything except a dark, looming figure.

"It's all right, sonny," came a deep, soothing voice. "You're safe now."

"Where's Sammy?" Dean demanded, blinking rapidly, trying to clear his vision. He winced as his hand was set down. It felt as though it was covered in bandages.

"Sammy? Is that your brother?" the voice inquired with far too little concern for Dean's liking. "He's fine, thanks to you. You've been a very brave young lad."

"No, he hasn't. Quit filling his head with bull, doctor."

That voice was all too familiar. Dean's vision finally cleared enough to see John stride into the room. Now he could see they were in a hospital and the hunter looked spitting mad.

"Get up," he ordered. "We've still got work to do."

"I'm afraid that is out of the question," interceded what Dean now assumed was his doctor. "Your son has suffered a great-"

"Do I look like I give a damn what you think?" John spat. "He's my son and he's coming with me. Now."

"Sir, I'd like to-"

"You can do whatever you want," John said, cutting across the other man’s words again, his tone suddenly growing quiet. The stare he gave the doctor could have set stone on fire.

Dean recognized the expression and voice. Quickly he yanked the IV from his arm, pushed the agony from his mind, and swung his legs out of bed.

"I'm fine, Dad," he said, his voice cracking with the effort of concealing the pain. "Let's go get Sam and-"

"I forbid this!” exclaimed the doctor, looking outrages. “I absolutely cannot-"

John glanced quickly from the doctor, to his son's bandages, to his small face. For the barest flicker of a moment, Dean thought he was pride there. Something akin to love and even approval. Then it was gone.

"It's about time,” was all he said.

Leaving the doctor sputtering helplessly in the empty room, the two strode into the corridor, Dean limping beside his father.

"Wh-where's Sammy?" he asked, as they neared the elevator.

"In the car," said John, without looking around.

"Is he..."

"He's fine. No more questions."

"Yes, s-sir."

For the next few weeks, Dean limped along behind his father and brother, trying his best keep up. Every night, however, he forced his face into a pillow so the other two wouldn't hear his sobs. When he looked over at the next bed and saw Sam, sleeping soundly and unharmed, he managed a smile.

It was all worth it.


End file.
